ack. The hangman would be busy for a month if all who
merited his rope were dragged out of yonder dens. But we must be
going; the captain is almost out of sight, and thou hast matters on
hand that are of greater moment than the catching of a thief."

Walking on, the two came abreast of the Temple, and lawyers,
scriveners, clerks, and students dotted the roadway.

"A sweetly built place is the Temple," commented Jeffreys: "cool alleys
shaded with trees, spacious courts, goodly halls and chapels; fair
gardens sloping sunnily and warmly to the south and the river. Ah!
there is no fairer site on earth for a fine dwelling than on this bank
of Father Thames. Thou wilt see by the great houses that we shall pass
how many men are of my opinion."

Morgan came to Temple Bar, and saw, with a shudder, a row of mouldering
heads atop of it. He passed beneath the archway and put foot in the
famous Strand. Immediately before him the Maypole stretched skyward,
its top still ornamented with a few fluttering rags of weather-bleached
ribbon, mementoes of the festivities that had ushered in the
fast-fading summer. On his left, with its front to the river, was a
great house with its courts and gardens, and Master Jeffreys
whispered,--

"The town house of my Lord Essex, the Queen's favourite and the great
rival of the gallant knight we both love."

Morgan stood and gazed at the somewhat ugly pile with the greatest
interest.

As he moved on a cleanly lad came across the road, with a shining
pannikin in either hand, and asked politely whether "their worships"
would care to quench their thirst in water drawn from the well of St.
Clement or from Holy Well that was hard by.

"Which is the more precious liquid?" asked Morgan.

The lad quickly replied that he had no opinion, and that learned men
and excellent divines could come to no agreement over the matter. His
worship might drink of both and judge for himself; the charge was but a
farthing.

"Cheaper than Mistress Stowe's sack, at any rate, if not so palatable,"
said Johnnie. He gave the lad a farthing and took the Holy Well
pannikin, whilst his companion drained that which owned its virtues to
the sanctity of St. Clement, whose church fronted them across the way.
As neither tasted of both, they had, like the water-seller, no opinion
as to the merits of the rival wells.

They walked on past Somerset House.

"A stately pile," said Morgan.

"Fairer even than Whitehall," rep